


Kanantabáa

by Imagining_Fantasy



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Falling In Love, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mayan Mythology - Freeform, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, more to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15056888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_Fantasy/pseuds/Imagining_Fantasy
Summary: “You, Ryan Ross, are the most talented scribe Itza has seen since it was settled!” the man roared straight into his face. “And you’re saying you don’t want to take the opportunity to do the greatest task you’ll ever be offered?!”He huffed. “If I wanted to be a priest-““It doesn’t matter what you want, boy. The gods care not for your idiodic dreams of splendor.”“What are you going to do, huh? Force me to spend a decade of my life on this project?”“No.” The man backed away, composing himself. “But if I don’t, you’ll be stripped of your nobility and thrown to the jaguars. Even better, put into the ball court.”That motherfucker-“Fine,” Ryan spat, eyes ablaze with fury. “Fine. Anybody else I should know about?”





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. Don’t take it more seriously than it should be taken. 
> 
> Also, cultural appropriation is a serious matter and I respect the culture, history, and traditions of the Maya people. I have conducted serious research to make this work as accurate as possible. Certain things are altered for the sake of literature and because accurate data on ancient Mayans is limited. Every character in this fic is native (American), because that is the location they are in. 
> 
> Thank you <3

“Sabaktah. In terms of rituals, there is little more sacred. You are burdened with the divine task of transcribing the word of the gods themselves.” The instructor at the front of the room gestured to a scroll covered in glyphs. “If you are gifted enough, you may even have the honor of working for the Ahau Cah himself.”  
  
A couple younger students leaned forward in their seats, wrapped up in the priest’s enchanting words.  Ryan twirled a paintbrush, leaning backward and staring at the ceiling. He knew how to paint eight hundred glyphs, if not more. The class was being told what a damn glyph _was_.  
  
Ryan frowned. The gods clearly were not the main concern of the priest; he had jade carved into his family glyph rather than a divine symbol. How arrogant, he thought. The unnaturally pale young man next to him was quite vexed, mouth twitching in masked outrage.  
  
Throughout the lesson he found himself studying the boy next to him. The boy had a skin tone lighter than Ryan had ever seen before, about the same tone as the paper they were using. It was almost sickly. His raven-black hair was pushed back and tucked under a small crown of quetzal feathers every shade of green.  
  
Black, glossy face paint lined the young man’s eyes, curled around his cheekbones, and disappeared above his ears into his hairline. It was done with such intricate precision, no minuscule mishaps or bumps. No smears from the sweltering humidity or sweat, either. How that was achieved, Ryan had no idea. By the end of any given day any face paint or colors Ryan used on his face were splotchy and mixed together into a disgusting shade of brown.  
  
Only during special ceremonies priests dressed that way, in Ryan’s experience. He was immediately intrigued, and figured this boy was interesting enough to hold his attention for the time being.  
  
“Bix a k’aaba’?” Ryan questioned as he leaned over to the boy.  
  
The pale man chuckled. When he realized Ryan was not joking, his eyes widened. “Oh. You’re serious. In k’aaba’e’ Brendon.” A skeptical look. “You, uh, really didn’t know?”  
  
“Why would I be asking if I didn’t know?” Ryan scoffed. Gods, Itza people were so clueless, so full of themselves. “In k’aaba’e’ Ryan. Jach ki’imak in wóol in wilikech.”  
  
Look at him being polite and keeping up formalities. His father would be proud.  
  
“I haven’t seen you before,” Brendon said. The man spoke in the oddest way. It was slower than syrup and as if the words were unfamiliar in his mouth. Ryan genuinely thought it was possible the man had lived in a cave his entire life, then decided one day to show up to their theology training.  
  
“No, you haven’t,” Ryan agreed, training his eyes forward.  
  
“Are you an _uinicoob_?”  
  
A laugh came so close to escaping his throat that his face flushed red from the strain of keeping it down. The thought of being peasantry was heartwarming, if not hilarious. He liked this kid already.  
  
“Obviously not.” He gestured to the family seal hanging around his neck, constantly pressing against his skin to as a reminder that he was trapped in it for the duration of his life.  
  
“Oh, um.” Brendon shifted in his chair. Scratched the back of his neck. “Alright.”  
  
A voice in the back of his head reminded him how simple it would be to screw around with the younger man. He appeared to be so unwitting. Ryan was astonished Brendon was in the class in the first place. After a second of consideration he let it go. No point in taking out his frustration on the innocent noble boy.  
  
“Now.” The instructor’s voice increasing its volume gained Ryan’s attention. “Who can tell me the role of Ek Chuah in creation?”  
  
Hands shot up, the entranced students all too- eager to prove themselves.  
  
“If anyone says he is the god of fire you will be out of this lesson faster than a jaguar can tear out your throat.”  
  
Someone coughed awkwardly, and one-by-one the hands dropped down. Except for Brendon. Ryan raised his eyebrows, ready to see the naive boy get kicked out.  
  
“Brendon, care to explain?”  
  
Here it came.  
  
“It’s actually Ek Chuaj.“ Brendon raised his chin, lips curling into a knowing smile. The transformation was jarring and almost frightening. With his quetzal feather headdress and high-ranking face paint, everyone in the room felt Brendon’s authority, the wisdom of the gods themselves. “The Black Scorpion. He influences the spheres of fertility and revival. The balance of the universe, axis mundi.”  
  
Well. That was surprising. Most of that Ryan himself didn’t know. The extent to which citizens had access to the gods was limited at best. During celebrations everyone would make offerings, but to know a god’s true function and domain was reserved for the highest ranked priests.  
  
The instructor’s eyes were as wide as saucers, reflecting the shock of the group in general. “Um. Very good, Brendon. That is...a complex perspective of Ek Chuah.”  
  
“Ek Chuaj,” Brendon corrected again. Ryan’s chest hurt from holding his breath.  
  
“There are, erm, many iterations of gods,” the instructor said.  
  
“You asked for the role of Ek Chuaj, not the iterations. And you should be using the Itza name if you are in Chichen _Itza_.”  
  
That boy had snark.  
  
To see an elder unsettled was a scarce event. Ryan kept his eyes glued to the instructor’s face, reveling in the embarrassment of being corrected by a novice.  
  
“ _Anyway_.” The instructor changed the subject to make himself seem above a petty argument. “Back to the origin of glyphs.”  
  
Brendon ducked his head, not losing that passionate spitfire. Ryan hummed under his breath, more curious than ever. 

 

The crowned boy changed his focus to reading a codec on _axis mundi_ , that strange term he used earlier, a small crease in his forehead. Ryan wondered if Brendon was fact-checking their pigheaded instructor. A twist of the man’s lips indicated yes, and that he had been correct after all.  
  
Ryan dipped his brush in orange paint and began to scribe glyphs describing Brendon’s witty remarks so he could reread them later. Brendon was a character. Someone real, rather than warped and molded into the constant cycle of birth, work, and death.  
  
About damn time.  
  
~~~  
  
After the lesson the priest waved him up to the front of the room as the other pupils filed out. The instructor’s expression was guarded. Nobody enjoys getting corrected, and that was definitely evident, the man’s brows were furrowed together so tightly that Ryan couldn’t see any space between them.  
  
“Ross. You stay away from Brendon.” The instructor’s eyes narrowed. “You’re messing with forces you don’t want to get involved with.”  
  
He scoffed. As if some noble family with a grudge problem had stopped him before. “ _Ma’alob_. I think he knows the gods better than you. Getting lessons from him would be more valuable than this trash.”  
  
“You come close to insulting the gods, boy, and me. Watch your tongue,” the man hissed, looking around as if _Itzam Ná_ himself was about to appear. “Brendon is the son of Ahau Can Ucán. Make one wrong move with that boy and you will be cut open with an _u kan ku_ faster than you can blink.”  
  
“ _P'atéen tíin juunaj_ ,” Ryan sneered. “I am an adult. I don’t need some chacoob to lecture me. I also don’t need lessons on sabaktah. I am already a better ah woob than you. Your scriptures are obtuser than the brain of an iguana.”  
  
The instructor flinched back, clearly insulted.  
  
Good. He felt a wicked swirl of satisfaction in his gut, and twisted his lips into a smirk.  
  
The priest with the worst garments Ryan had ever seen stormed away with more contempt than a hurricane. Finally. That low-ranking idiot would run off and whine to his superiors rather than bother him.  
  
It’s not as if Ryan would actually be offered to the gods. His father would never allow it. Plus, from what he had heard, Chichén Itzá only sacrificed a few _ah chembal uinicoob_ every year. It was a clever system. Keep the poor in line by feeding them to the gods rather than the families in power.  
  
If he didn’t despise every aspect of nobility with every drop of precious blood in him, maybe he would enjoy his privilege.  
  
No. Definitely not.  
  
He breathed in the humid, heavy air as he stepped out of the teaching complex. It was not constructed of limestone like the main buildings of the city, as the teaching of priests did not occur year round, and rather was a temporary building hastily put together.  
  
The sun beat down on the city, yet the residents were still busy bustling at work.  Even with heat there was always work to be done. Trading caravans and merchants would visit soon and the city needed to prepare; the chilam announced it the previous day. That meant busy streets and noise for at least ten days.  
  
The capital city was uncomfortably large; _uinicoob_ bungalows stretched as far into the jungle as his eyes could see when he peered over the wall, the gargantuan Temple of Kukulcan loomed in the center of the noble sector of the city, and the ball court was enormous and had an ominous number of carvings representing past conquests. Do not even get him started on the _tzompantlis_ : a wall of carvings so haunting they would cause even Kisin, the god of the underworld himself, to shudder.    
  
His home was located next to the Temple of the Warrior, an architect’s dream temple with hundreds of painted columns depicting the greatest Itza warriors and hunters both alive and dead. The limestone was smoothed and painted, all dutifully maintained by the groundskeepers. Ryan was told there were one thousand columns, and although he didn’t care enough to count, that seemed like a fair estimate. The only benefit to living next to the grand temple was that people ignored his house’s existence altogether, cleverly tucked away under an ancient tree.  
  
He entered his home, stepping as lightly as possible through the opening. The temperature lessened, but it was still uncomfortably hot, so he yanked off his tunic, rubbing his sweat-coated forehead with it.  
  
“Ma'lob Ja'atskab K'iin, Master Ryan.” The voice of the one person he had been attempting to evade greeted.  
  
Ryan yelped, then flushed red when he realized the sound that just came out of his mouth. The other man kept his expression perfectly still, with only a sparkle in the eyes to signify his amusement.  
  
“By the gods, how many times have I told you that you don’t need to be here in the morning!” Ryan struggled to put his tunic back on, arm caught in the sleeve.  
  
“It’s my job, sir.” Spencer shrugged, respectfully not looking up from the meal he was preparing.  
  
“Isn’t it part of your job to listen to me?” he challenged.  
  
“Technically, your father is still the head of the _na_ , sir.”  
  
“You like me better.”  
  
“You drive a hard bargain. Perhaps you should look into economics rather than theology, Master.”  
  
“Spencer,” Ryan leaned on the cooking table, “if you call me ‘master’ or ‘sir’ one more time, I’m going to exile you for insubordination.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Spencer looked up through his eyelashes, a ghost of a smile somewhere in his expression. He didn’t use a title, so Ryan dealt with the sarcasm.  
  
“Too bad.” Ryan grabbed a handful of corn from the cutting board and threw it into his mouth.  
  
If looks could kill, Ryan would be on the way to _Mitnal;_ Spencer was a meticulous person who disliked any cooking processes being interrupted. 

 

Ryan chewed slower.  
  
Spencer was the only pleasant thing in Chichen Itza. He had been a “housewarming” gift from the _Ahau Can_. Apparently, as an infant, Spencer was offered as tribute to the gods, essentially placing him in slavery for the rest of his life. The most honorable choice a parent could make also dumped the most suffering upon their child. Those fed to the gods were almost always slaves or some _uinicoob_. Ryan swore the day Spencer was entrenched in their house that he would never let anything happen to happen, and that was the end of it.  
  
Spencer’s view of his circumstance was kinder. He thought it was honorable. Ryan vaguely remembered Spencer putting it as: “if I have to spend my days serving something greater than myself, it is far better than keeping my focus on my own selfishness.” 

 

As much as Ryan admired the man’s dedication to the gods, he doubted Spencer’s efforts would have any effect in the first life. Only high priests communed with the gods, and the only contact they as mortals could have was through sacrifice. It was that self-sacrificing nature only those who never knew privilege possessed. He supposed Spencer was playing the long game, saving his good deeds for rebirth. Spencer always thought five steps ahead.  
  
“Have you seen my father?” Ryan straightened up, scratching his chin.  
  
“He’s meeting with an economic envoy from ,” Spencer said, scorn hidden under layers of self-discipline. “Down in the market, last I heard.”

 

The man lowered his gaze, something unsettling in his expression. How did he not realize Spencer’s hands were shaking? Now with the heat-induced haze worn off, he noticed how unnerved his friend was. Something had gone wrong. His friend didn’t want him to ask about it, but Ryan was too concerned and paranoid to let it go at the moment.

 

“Uh, Spence,” Ryan took a cautious step forward. “What are you making?”

 

“Nothing.” Spencer moved, shielding his clothed arms in particular.

 

“Let me see your arms.”

 

“Sir?” He could visibly see Spencer slip into the headspace when his conscious receded and he only followed orders.

 

It broke Ryan’s heart.

 

Years of conditioning into slavery left a lasting impact on a man. As mentally brave as his friend was, there is only so much freedom someone born in chains can exercise. There was a mindset Spencer created as a coping mechanism, to keep his interactions with nobles and with Ryan separate; to combine the two would be catastrophic, but every once and a while Spencer would be so rattled he slipped into the subdued state around Ryan. When that happened, he could not help but feel at fault.

 

“Meent’uts,” Ryan pleaded. Sometimes soft words and a consoling voice could snap him out of it, but most of the time Spencer was gone for at least ten minutes, if not hours. “Give me your arms.”

 

Ryan wanted to scream at Spencer to snap out of it, that he couldn’t handle seeing the one person in his life become a puppet, but that would only render it worse. 

 

The brunette held out his arms, face so utterly blank it was haunting.

 

Ryan inhaled sharply at the sight. A cut, from a glass shard, stretched down Spencer’s bicep and into the pit of his elbow. A small burn was nestled on the inside of his left wrist.

 

Looking up with his vision clouding over, he swallowed. By the gods, as soon as his father died he would descend straight to the ninth level of _Mitnal_ and suffer the demonic hoards of _Ah Puch_. He deserved no less.

 

“Why?” Ryan said levelly, staring straight into his friend’s tranquil eyes. “What happened?”

 

“I refused to give him more balche.” Spencer inched his hands behind his back and clasped them, bowing his head in servitude. “He was too intoxicated, screaming at the macaws and scaring traders, so I hid our reserve to try to...get him to sober up, eventually.” A pained wince. “He found out. Safe to say he didn’t appreciate his _slave_ making decisions for him.”

 

“Gods, Spence.” Ryan shook his head. The thought of his father lashing out at Spencer was maddening beyond belief.

 

His friend tugged down his sleeves, nodding, still depressingly silent. Zero effort was made to clean his wounds or even express some level of despondency. Indignation built up in him on behalf of Spencer so rapidly that he saw a brilliant shade of red.

 

“ _Pelaná!_ ” he roared, knocking over a vase and letting it fall and shatter to the ground. 

 

His mindset was in a state of pure demolition. Destroy every single beautiful object in the room because it was all treated better than Spencer, polished and primed while the human being who cared for them was burnt and scarred. It wasn’t fucking fair.

 

Spencer dropped to his knees the second the sound of the vase shattering echoed in the house. “ _Ma’taali’teeni_.”

 

“Don’t apologize, gods.” Ryan grit his teeth against the influx of guilt snaking it’s way up to his heart. “Stand up, Spence, _meent’uts_.”

 

After a few horrible minutes of pleading, Spencer’s clouded irises finally cleared. The man blinked, shook his head, and looked up at Ryan with those awful, shocked eyes. Spencer brought a shaky hand up to his mouth, a soft, muffled sob choking out. Ryan dropped down next to him and slipped him into his arms, knuckles white with effort.

 

“ _Ma’taali’teeni_ ,” Spencer whispered an apology again. This time his voice quivered and was not sickeningly flat and indifferent.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Ryan murmured back. He removed himself from Spencer’s arms and stood on his own trembling legs. “Gods, Spence, stand up. Stand _up_.”

 

His friend hesitated, mouth curling down slightly with anxiety. Ryan offered a hand, unthreatening, as if approaching a frightened animal. After a couple seconds of consideration, Spencer gripped Ryan’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. There was lingering melancholy in the room, which neither of them acknowledged. Ryan gave a soft, remorseful smile. It was as gentle as anyone would ever see him; when given someone who had also faced the wrath of his father.

 

“I should..I should return to my duties.” Spencer averted his eyes.

 

Yeah, no. Not on his watch.

 

“Go see a healer,” Ryan ordered. “I can’t have you walking around here with open wounds. Save your blood for the gods.” He tried to ease the mood. “Take some money, here.”

 

“I can’t possibly accept that.”

 

“I’m not asking,” Ryan said. “Now go see a healer.”

 

Spencer huffed, but took the coins, unsteady hands clasping the small round pieces. The broken vase was still spread around the room, Ryan thought he even saw a piece embedded in a chair. Damn, he thought, Itza made their pottery tough. He reminded himself to go visit the artisans sometime to get new vase. His father wouldn’t notice anyway.

 

Even though Spencer hadn’t looked him in the eyes since earlier, Ryan hoped there wasn’t any lingering tension between them. He had enough to deal with already.

 

When he snapped out of his thoughts, Spencer was searching for something to sweep the pottery up with. Gods damn it all.

 

“I’ll clean the fucking mess; I have the entire day off.” He gently guided Spencer towards the door. “Go, now.”

 

“ _Dios bo’otik._ You’re too good to me.”

 

“You deserve better.”

 

Spencer snorted. “Yeah, okay. You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met. But seriously, _dios bo’otik.”_

_“Mixba’al.”_ Ryan shrugged. He didn’t need thanks. “Now get out of my sight.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

  



	2. hun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for Maya language used in chapter:
> 
> uinicoob- peasant, slave  
> paal kaba- true name (these were given by priests to Maya babies as soon as they were born, receiving a horoscope as well. they would change throughout their life as they reach adulthood and marry. the true name was rarely used, at least in this universe, little is known for sure.)  
> tzompantlis- a wall of carved (in that time they might have been real) heads in Chichen Itza, likely brought from the Aztec civilization  
> Pelaná- fuck, shit  
> Ahau Can- divine ruler, king, he who speaks  
> ma’taali’teeni- sorry  
> Mitnal- mythic underworld, hell  
> Pa’atiki’- excuse me  
> ahkinoob- noble, rich man (literally 'of the sun')  
> Kinich Ahau- sun deity  
> Ko'ox- let's go  
> Macachí- shut up  
> ah tzib- scribe, writer  
> sabaktah- Mayan art of writing glyphs (often referencing divine scripture)  
> ah k’ulem ts’ib- a scribe who writes divine word
> 
> Enjoy :)

The sun set over the horizon, painting the sky vibrant shades of red. When the day drew to a close all the _uinicoob_ of Chichen Itza dropped their demanding, back-breaking labor and went back to the small huts they called home. On the other hand, the nobles, priests, liars, and cheats took a lovely stroll home, and the jungle sunset was a beauty rather than a sign of an end to daily suffering.

 

He sat on the porch step, kicking the same pebble back and forth. The heavy, engraved necklace felt especially scalding when the fact he was one of the privileged swines he so criticized sank in. His father embodied that toxicity. That arrogance that drove men to kill what gave them lifeblood.

 

A passing courier stopped in front of his home, blinking up at the opulent building. Ryan knew exactly how the man felt: disgusted by the lavishness that only comforts the oblivious.

 

“Excuse me, sir.” The courier went up a single step, keeping his distance from the disease. “I have a summons for Ah Gukumatz Rafa.”

 

He started. His _paal kaba_ , true name, was never supposed to be used in public. It held predictions for his future, determined his destiny. The unfortunate truth was his true name would be the same as his father’s if it had his grandmother’s name. His destiny would align with his father’s. That knowledge haunted his every movement, every action. But the gods had spoken. No matter what he did, he would end up no better than the person he hated most. Not sure whether to laugh or lash out, he settled on simply nodding his head.

 

“My apologies for using your _paal kaba_ , sir,” the courier winced, bowing his head. “I was told to handle this information with the utmost caution.”

 

“It’s no problem,” Ryan forced himself to speak. “Just give it here so you can go.”

 

The courier had calluses across his hands, he noted while the man handed him the textured scroll. A silent warning passed through the man’s eyes, causing shivers to travel up Ryan’s spine. The last time somebody looked at him like that…

 

“Thank you.” He dropped his gaze, staring at the summons with a sickening feeling spreading in his gut.

 

The courier nodded, stepped off the ornate staircase, and disappeared into the darkening path that lead to the uinicoob sector on the outskirts of the city. Ryan took one last look around, searching for what, he did not know. Even if nobody else was around, the courier’s anxious eyes lingered in his mind, so he went into his home and yanked the curtain across the doorway.

 

He unraveled the scroll, taking in the quality of the glyphs. It was all in the color. Nobody could get those rare bright paints, except for royalty of course. In the bottom right corner there was the same glyph so intricately placed on Brendon’s jade necklace.

  
  
His hands began to shake.

  
  
Reading glyphs was no easy task, there was a good reason scribes were so highly valued, but with his experience Ryan managed to work out the message, despite the trembling paper. The Ahau Can himself wanted to speak to him; in person too. He could not recall ever hearing about the Ahau meeting with anyone face to face. Any orders were carried out by interpreters or servants.

  
  
The instructor’s warning to stay away from Brendon repeated in mind. Why else would the high leader of the city want to speak to him, especially directly, besides casting him out for speaking to the heir to the throne with such insubordinate informality? He had nowhere else to go. If he did flee, he would likely be thrown into slavery or indentureship. While Ryan’s appreciation for his noble stature was lacking, that didn’t mean he wanted to endure a life of hardship. The idea of never being able to scribe again made his chest ache.

  
  
In his entire life he’d never received anything of significance from other nobles. Other children born into power were raised to be leaders, given difficult tasks and challenging mathematics and astrology early in their lifetimes. Ryan didn’t get that. He got his alcoholic father who only was alive because he could talk his way through any situation. Seeing something with his name on it, his true name too, was deeply riveting, even though the meaning behind the letter could have been horrible.

  
  
“Uh, Ry...what’s that?”

  
  
His breath caught, and Ryan turned to see Spencer standing hesitantly in the doorway, hovering as if this was a private setting, like they were not practically blood brothers at this point. Rolling the sheet and clasping it in his white-knuckled fist, he opened his mouth to find no sound could escape. Spencer waited for Ryan to compose himself with his everlasting patience, setting down a bag Ryan assumed held salve and crossing his arms.

  
  
Ryan cleared his throat. “It’s...” His voice cut out again. “ _Pelaná_. It’s a summons from the Ahau Can.”

  
  
Spencer blinked, the information sinking in. “As in...”

  
  
“Yes.” He failed to keep up his composure, jaw clamping shut.

  
  
“Oh gods. Do you know why? How does he even know who you are?”

  
  
“I’m not an uinicoob and I’m in a class with his son.” Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Plus, he was the one who welcomed my father and I when we first arrived. Gods know why the Ahau wants to see me-“

  
  
At the mention of Brendon a shadow passed over Spencer’s face. Anyone else would have missed the subtle twitch of his lip or the tiny crinkle under his left eye.

  
  
“Wait, wait,” Spencer said. “You’re in a class with Brendon?”

  
  
“Uh, yeah. Why do you ask?”

  
  
“Nothing, never mind. I just didn’t know that,” the man shrugged. Ryan hardly believed his excuse. “When do you have to go?”

  
  
“Tonight, which means this is urgent. Or he wants to get this over with. _Pelaná_.” Spencer rolled his eyes at Ryan’s language. Whatever. If the gods had time for criticizing his word choice he would be severely concerned. Maybe I’ll ask Brendon when my head is on one of spikes in the _tzompantlis_ , he thought, pessimistic thoughts rearing their ugly heads.

  
  
“I’m sure you’ll be okay,” Spencer lied.

  
  
“Say that again when you build my tomb.” He narrowed his eyes; yes, he knew he was being far more difficult than necessary, but Spencer was beyond used to it.

  
  
“If you want any daylight on your way home, I suggest you leave now,” Spencer sighed, done with Ryan’s nihilism.

  
  
Even though they were joking around and speaking lightheartedly, both of them knew that if he had insulted the Ahau in any way, he wouldn’t live to see another day. Ryan could see it in the way Spencer’s mouth curled down into a nervous frown and hands absentmindedly drifted in the air towards Ryan, clinging onto something that may not be there in the future. Sure, it was a far-fetched assumption, but after the instructor’s warnings and his family’s unreliable position in nobility, punishment wouldn’t be out of question. They sailed on a ship in a deadly storm with a hole merely patched with clay, only able to hope the shaky foundations would last long enough to get to shore.

  
  
He gave Spencer a brief hug. When he pulled away his friend murmured a prayer to the gods to protect him. Spencer’s heart was in the right place, but Ryan doubted the gods would turn against the very human who gave them lifeblood, who fed them. His fate was in the Ahau Can’s hands now; if that what was being decided, after all.

  
  
•-•-•-•-•-•

  
  
The palace of the royal family made a small hut out of Ryan’s home. Painted stones towered so high he had to crane his neck all the way back to see the end of them; he estimated it had at least three floors, unheard of in any commoner structure,. The carvings on them were as clear as the glyphs on the letter, and his eyes easily deciphered the writings speaking of the Itzá people’s history, the line of royalty, and fantastic tales of the gods. Given more time he knew he would have taken in the carvings for hours – days, even. They were far better than the simple, mocking glyphs the idiotic instructor attempted to make them scribe.

 

Servants bustled all around the palace, carrying vases of food and materials. A contemplative architect stood some distance away facing another building in the royal courtyard, staring at stone foundations to another palace as if crafting the designs in his mind. The architect seemed the only person not in a hurry, so Ryan approached him cautiously. One time he sneaked up on a working potter and they had dropped their vase, the precious material shattering on the dry earth. Even though the man couldn’t do anything to him – class and all that – it was nevertheless embarrassing.

 

The architect had more facial hair than any person he’d ever seen, in a well-maintained. short beard that the man was scratching deep in thought. A slightly hooked nose and clean, combed hair. If the architect was dressed any nicer Ryan might have assumed he was a noble with that level of hygiene.

 

He stood a short distance from the man, trying to make himself known. “Erm, excuse me, I’m here to see the Ahau Can. Do you know anyone I need to talk to or…?”

 

“No, _ma’taali’teeni_.” The architect kept his eyes on the rectangular stone foundation. “I was just hired to build this palace, I’m not a servant.”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“Good.” The man gave a sharp smile, darting his eyes at him for a moment.

 

What in all of _Mitnal_ was going on? Nobody had ever spoken to him before with such nonchalance besides Spencer, of course. He lived for the instances where he did not have to keep up formalities and act as the divine person who deserved everything. Simplicity was hard to come by. Speaking from his experience, the people who lead the simplest lives were happy not because everything was easy, but because everything made sense.

 

Any other noble would’ve slapped the man for insubordination, or perhaps propose him to be used to converse with the gods- but all he felt was glee.

 

“ _Pa’atiki’_?” he said, doing his best to sound as indignant as possible to test just how much this man was willing to risk for the sake of dignity.

 

“You heard me. Now go waste someone else’s time. I have important work to do.”

 

Good. Keep going. Get something out of him.

 

“Oh, really? Is that why you’re staring at a pile of rocks?”

 

“Why yes, it is.” The man finally turned to face him, eyes not full of malice, but rather calm indifference, to Ryan’s surprise.

 

“I’m shocked you even got this job with that attitude,” Ryan jeered, raising his eyebrows for dramatic effect.

 

“Better than being a spoiled _ahkinoob_ who only knows how to exploit good people!” A burst of irritation was the only emotion he managed to evict from the man.

 

There it was. He got what he wanted. If they weren’t in a heated argument Ryan would wholeheartedly give the architect accolades for being so cognizant- but first he had to diffuse the situation. How he was going to take back all the biting words he spat out, he did not know.

 

“Finally, the only sane thing I’ve heard today.” Ryan smirked and changed his facial expression into one of sly amusement rather than vexation, praying the man would somehow understand his unhinged experiment.

 

“And one more thing! You- wait, what?” The architect’s shoulders dropped, perceivably perplexed. “You weren’t being serious. Oh...um-”

 

“Nah,” Ryan shrugged.

 

Confusion transformed into admiration right in front of his eyes. The man uncrossed his arms and a smile tugging at his lips. Everyone has a weakness that gives their undying, unconditional respect away as if it were free. For some it is intelligence, others honesty. In their case it appeared to be appreciation for circumstances; eyes unclouded by the smoke of society’s melding flames. Everyone has a weakness, but he made an effort to make sure his was worth the pain.

 

“Then...I guess you deserve an apology,” the man sighed.

 

Don’t. Really don’t.

 

“It’s fine.” He offered an outstretched hand as truce to end their battle so they could have enough tenacity and defiance to brave life’s war of attrition. “Ryan.”

 

“Jon.” The architect accepted the handshake, callused palms scratchy against Ryan’s unmarred skin. A second of silence passed when they both dropped their hands, not sure how to act in peacetime. “You said you were here to see the Ahau Can?”

 

Oh. He didn’t think Jon heard that. The architect really was impossible to read. “Yeah, I am. Getting this over with before the sun goes down would be great.”

 

“Best to have Kinich Ahau on your side,” Jon agreed, nodding. “Just go inside and wait by the door. A servant will ask you what you’re doing.” Something mischievous passed through his eyes. “You’re Ryan Ross, no? If you see a nice servant lady named Linda, tell her Spencer says hello.”

 

“What-”

 

“See you around,” Jon waved.

 

“You can’t just-” he trailed off as Jon walked away, not even turning to acknowledge Ryan’s confusion as to how he knew Spencer. He was under the impression that Spencer barely left the sphere of their estate, but chastised himself for underestimating the lengths his friend was willing to go in order to taste a bit of freedom.

 

Holding off his rampant confusion for later, he entered the illustrious structure, though he had to duck down through the low-set door. His height was something that set him apart from most people, both figuratively and literally. Most Maya were short and stout, having athletic bodies built for endurance and strength. Ryan, on the other hand, could not have been any different. In areas where bulging biceps should be he received sleek, thin arms, and in place of strong legs he exchanged muscle for length, towering over almost everyone he met. It was both a blessing and a curse. If the constant watching and examination from people made him uncomfortable before, it was worse when he was standing out in any crowd. Wearing a headdress would draw even more attention, so refusing to wear them except for the most important, sacred ceremonies became normal. Lowering himself through every door was humiliating in of itself; bowing oneself was nearly as demeaning as kneeling, and only the _uinicoob_ were supposed to do it frequently. There was no doubt in his mind that the door was purposefully placed so low in order to get visitors in a humbled and tactile state – ready to serve.

 

Tapestries and murals coated every bare surface, like showing any of the expensive stone wall would somehow be penurious. Ornate vases were scattered across the floor and on low tables, some filled with fruit and others with water. He wondered how many people could stave off starvation with just half of it; dozens, at least. Though the palace was humongous, the first room was moderate in size, and there was only one door connecting it with the rest of the structure. Footsteps, conversation, and sounds of cleaning echoed through the thick stone walls, but there was nobody in sight.

  
  
The second he took a step into the singular hallway, a warrior appeared out of the shadows and blocked his path. Ryan paused, hand instinctively drifting to the obsidian blade on the small of his back. Even though the man was just doing his duty, Ryan was aware of how sloppy law enforcement could be.

  
  
“May I help you?” the guard asked, crossing his built, tattooed arms.

  
  
Ryan moved his hand away from the blade and clasped the summons scroll, sliding it out of his belt and holding it out for the guard to take. The man kept eyeing him suspiciously, but accepted the thickly woven paper and skimmed his eyes over it.

  
  
“Ross, eh? You don’t look anything like your father.”

  
  
‘Thank you,’ he wanted to say. Or ask how this warrior knew his pathetic excuse of a father. Knowing that was unwise, he just replied, “that’s me.”

  
  
“Alright,” the guard glanced at the family seal on Ryan’s jade amulet and nodded, “follow me.”

  
  
“ _Ko’ox_.” Ryan affirmed, anxiously adjusting his feathered circlet.

  
  
The guard waved him through. He prayed to every god they weren’t meeting in a judgment court, anything but that would be better. Even if the Ahau forced him into a decade of indebted labor, he would take that over assured death.

  
  
They stopped at a seemingly random entrance in a corridor of repeating rooms. The only difference between any of the arches was glyphs next to them indicating the purpose of the space, which was strange. Every glyph he’d ever studied was only used for storytelling or passing messages, not labeling. Sure there were some homes with glyphs in them, but they were history, not for something as useless as this. Before he could inquire the warrior about it, a female servant appeared in the doorway.

  
  
The guard and the servant exchanged a few curt words and then the woman waved Ryan into the room with a warm smile, the first he’d received in ages. If this was the Linda that Jon spoke of, he wouldn’t be surprised, because she was so obviously a different spirit than any of the other harrowed servants rushing around the palace. Her shoulders were relaxed and her face exempt of stress or age.

  
  
Only the two of them were in the room, but it was furnished and obviously lived in by someone. The bed, a luxury only the prosperous could afford, was rumpled and had a dip where a person often visited it. There were several scrolls of paper on a shelf, and if his eyes weren’t bluffing, even a codex or two.

  
  
He turned to the servant. “Why am I here?”

  
  
“I don’t know, sir,” the woman said. “I’m afraid nobody knows that but the family.”

  
  
“Could you find out?” Ryan frowned, frustrated by the ridiculous aura of mystery the royals seemed intent on maintaining.

  
  
“Yes, but you only have a short time until they arrive, sir.”

  
  
“They?” he repeated.

  
  
“The Ahau Can and whomever he is bringing with him. I don’t know who that is, sir.”

  
  
An executioner, his mind whispered. No. That would be idiotic. They wouldn’t bring him into the royal palace of all places just to execute him in a “nice setting.” If he was in danger he would have heard by now. Probably.

  
  
He opened his mouth to dismiss his nagging inquiries but was interrupted by two guards entering the room. He swallowed, throat suddenly desert dry and biting at him like a rattlesnake. The guards took their positions in the back corners of the room, hands firmly clasped around the handles of their sheathed, deadly clubs. A familiar face appeared next and sat down on the bed with crouched posture, staring at something quite interesting on the floor; Brendon’s shoulders hunched over and his hands fiddled in his skirt. Ryan desperately wanted to ask him what was going on, but then in came the Ahau Can in all of his glory, the feathers of his headdress so long that they grazed the floor. The Ahau’s head sloped far back and nose curved low on his face. If it were anyone else Ryan would have been thoroughly unimpressed, but this was the most powerful person in the city, and likely the region.

  
  
Ryan bowed his head as heavy as he could, the weapons of the guards within striking distance sending shivers down his spine. A small obsidian blade against those kind of weapons would do nothing; if they attacked, he would die.

  
  
“Leave us,” the Ahau Can ordered the warriors. His voice boomed after years of being in control of everyone around him, Ryan theorized. Knowledge is power, and the Ahau Can possessed all of it.

  
  
As soon as the warriors shuffled out, Brendon stood up, losing his slouching posture and staring at his father with blazing fire in his eyes. “This is madness. How dare you do this without my-

  
  
“ _Macachí_ , boy. I will not have you disrespect this family.”

  
  
“But-“ Brendon protested again then let out an exhale of defeat. “Yes, father.

  
  
“Apologies for my confusion,” Ryan frowned, feeling very out of place, “but why am I here, Your Majesty?”

  
  
The Ahau Can finally acknowledged his presence, scrutinizing him and raising a curious brow at his family seal, as if surprised to know his bloodline. The guard from earlier made the same face. There was definitely something he did not know about his family history. The Ahau Can hummed. “Hm, yes. You will do.”

  
  
“Father, you cannot be serious. He’s a third the age of our best _ah tzib_.” Brendon crossed his arms, bejeweled bracelets rattling together. “He has no experience and wasn’t even born Itzá! Why him?”

  
  
Ryan’s blood boiled. He didn’t know what task Brendon was talking about, but the young man insulted his writing ability and his bloodline in one breath, and that was infuriating beyond belief.

  
In that moment he made a decision that Brendon was, in fact, the worst person he’d ever met. He wasn’t exaggerating. Not one bit.

 

Okay, maybe Brendon was fine.

  
  
“Excuse me-“ Ryan began.

  
  
“I will handle this.” The Ahau Can waved him off and hissed to his son. “If you speak one more ill word you will no longer be involved in this. If you are insubordinate, I will have you sleeping in the stables for weeks.”

  
  
Well then.

 

Ryan wasn’t sure he felt outrage toward the prince anymore, and it gradually shifted into pity. He was fortunate enough to have a father who didn’t care about his life at all. As soon as Ryan reached adulthood his father was more than gleeful to move him to the next house in their family square. Parents who clung onto their children even after they reached maturity were not unheard of, especially in nobility, but Ryan never actually thought he’d see it in person. He then realized Brendon’s unnaturally pale skin tone and the dark, deep circles under his eyes spoke volumes about his home life.

  
  
“Now,” the divine man said, “I will explain why you are here. Look at this map, _ah tzib_.”

  
  
Ryan blinked and noticed that one of the guards had left an unraveled scroll on the desk, and on it a chart of the city states in the Mayan civilization. He approached it, keeping a safe distance away from the Ahau. Chichén Itzá, of course, resided in the northern part of the peninsula, its domain stretching for leagues. Yaxuná just to the south within Chichén’s territory made his heart ache. A city that he only heard anxious whispers and horrid rumors about was circled several times: Mayapán.

  
  
“I see you are aware of Mayapán.” The Ahau looked impressed. It was not that impressive, not by a long shot. The merchants were the most informed on it, not him.

  
  
“Only by word of mouth, Your Highness.”

  
  
“Ah. Brendon will explain our...predicament to you. He was the one who received the gods’ message, after all.”

  
  
Brendon stepped forward, huffing. “Yes, and I was meant to do this alone.” He pointed to Mayapán, which was dangerously close to Chichén now that Ryan thought about it. “This city was founded in recent times by the bloodline to the east, the Cocom. They have...wretched, tyrannical beliefs. Chichén has graciously ruled the region for centuries, but the Cocom are conquering our cities by the day. Their army is stronger and their rains more plentiful. We cannot train an army when the gods have not blessed us with enough rain.

  
  
“A few days ago, I had a vision while communing with the gods. I do not know which god spoke to me, but their message was clear: in order to preserve the Itzá, we must construct a codex with all of our knowledge of the gods. Instead of having scattered information that takes too long to access, we need to compile it into one entity. After our connection to the gods is strong, we can be blessed with rain again.”

  
  
Ryan massaged his temple. “Where do I come into this?” He paused, then smirked quick enough that only Brendon could see it. He let his voice drip with sarcasm. “Your Royal Highness.”

  
  
“Scribing a codex this long will take years to do,” the Ahau Can interrupted. “Our _ah tzib_ are of high quality and experienced, but will die soon. They are old and outgrowing their usefulness. I have heard firsthand of your abilities in _sabaktah_ , from my son, especially. This is no simple feat. The gods are mysterious in their ways and have many iterations. Luckily, Brendon has been conditioned to them since birth, and has donated enough lifeblood for one lifetime already. He will be the one providing the information, and you will perform _sabaktah_. In this you will become _ah k’ulem ts’ib_ : the highest position an _ah tzib_ can achieve.”

  
  
This was quite literally the most important offer of Ryan’s life, as the opportunity to become _ah k’ulem ts’ib_ normally only provided itself to the eldest writers in the entire region. He hadn’t expected this until he was double his current age. With all that in mind the only thing he managed to do was stare blankly into space and drop his jaw.

  
  
“Well, _ah tzib_ , are you up to the task?” The Ahau Can looked up at him.

 

  
Stupidly, like an idiot, the dumbest person to ever be, he blurted, “can I have a night to consider this, Your Majesty?”

  
  
The Ahau Can started, and Ryan remembered, because he had forgotten a crucial piece of information, that the man was used to being treated with the upmost respect. A part of him screamed to roll back everything he said and fall to his knees, thanking the Ahau Can profusely; but the larger, stubborn side pushed that thought away. There was no time for groveling like a worm.

  
  
Unless he needed to, of course.

  
  
“Yes, you may. Come back to the palace tomorrow with your answer.” The Ahau Can extinguished the candle providing light to the map with his fingers. Ryan held back a wince. The level of pain tolerance all priests had was terrifying, though he supposed after using a blade on oneself purposely and often, putting out a tiny flame is nothing.

  
  
Since explaining their mission, Brendon’s gaze hadn’t left him, and at this point he couldn’t tell if it was out of spite, judgment, or both. He made his top priority to avoid eye contact with the heir at all costs.

  
  
He rubbed the back of his neck and pondered how to leave the room without appearing completely clueless. It was then that his angel, his saving grace, his hero, Linda entered the room, her head bowed. The Ahau Can was now exchanging hushed, biting words with his son, allowing Ryan to slip away and out the door with the woman.

 

Once they were out of earshot, Linda lifted her head. “Are you alright, master?”

  
  
He shook his head, incredulous. “I think I will be.”

  
  
“What did they say, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  
  
“Too much and not enough,” his insane brain produced.

  
  
“Oh,” she said. “That doesn’t make any sense, sir.”

  
  
He laughed maniacally. “Yeah. It doesn’t, you’re right.”


End file.
